Hold Your Breath and Hide

Hold Your Breath and Hide is a story about an early childhood memory of mine.

It was dark.  The liquid blackness filled the room, all except for the dim wash of light evenly dispersed by my curtains.  I hated the curtains; an ugly puke-green that started at the top of the arch and fell mockingly to the floor.  Where the cloth was gathered at the top it looked like little demon claws gripping from the other side, ready to leap over the rod at any time.  I turned over and pulled the sheets up to my chin, as if it would protect me if they decided to leap out while I was sleeping.  I could hear the occasional car speeding down the road just outside my window, and closed my eyes tighter when headlights would sweep through my room as they came around the bend.  I began to drift off, snuggled close to the twenty-plus stuffed animals sharing my bed, my grip on my favorite unicorn starting to loosen.  

Suddenly: POW! POW!

My body jolted, and fear surged through my veins… my feet hit the carpet, their sound muffled by it’s thickness, moving swifter than ever past the curtains, past the white wood door and into the hall where they froze –just before the hall spilled into the living room.

“Dad! Was that a––-“

“GET DOWN!”

The carpet did little to pad my fall, and would soon become damp with the tears streaming down my face.  A blurred image of my dad was not far off, and as I came to him low to the ground, the carpet became prickly, scratching my knees as if to hinder my determination to reach him.  We crawled, him in the lead and I close behind, and soon we were huddled with my brother and mom in-between the master bed and a window-less wall, staying as low as possible.   

My dad’s face was rigid, and somehow a sense of readiness presided over him in a way only described as primal; his temple bulging, nostrils flared yet breath deep and steady, muscles tense enough to spring forward at any moment, and his eyes, so piercing and focused, paying full attention to his ears while searching for even the slightest movement beyond the doorway.  We waited.  My heart pounded on the wall of my chest with no mercy, anticipating something to burst through the front door at any moment.

I turned to face my mom, hearing the sound of a quiet ring behind me, then a voice, “911, what is your emergency?”